College Boy : A Novel (9781416586500) (28 page)

“Aw, shut up, mayn,” Bruce responded, smiling.

Troy stood up from his desk chair in obvious excitment. “Ay' Pete, I was just thinking about something, man. Imagine if Black people didn't have their own magazines and Black TV shows. And imagine if we didn't have all-Black neighborhoods. Who would care about us? We would be totally ignored completely as a people. So we need some type of unit to bring us together politically, economically, religiously, and culturally. We need, like, a Holistic Foundation or something.”

“That's what Martin Luther King was talkin' about,” Peter responded. “But we should just drop this racial thing, altogether.”

“What, are you crazy? If we do that, we'll end up being the dumbest people on the face of the earth. As a matter of fact, we already are!” Troy shouted, shaking his head in disgust. “In this integrated city, for example, Blacks don't know shit, but the White people do. That's how they fool you in integration. Like, a lot of them Whites who hang out with Black people. They know where they're headed, but what about us?”

“Well what about your girl?” Scott asked, challenging.

“She's from Chicago,” Troy told him. “The Nation of Islam is out there with a whole lot of Blacks on the South Side. But even their city was fooled when Martin Luther King went there. They had a bunch of Black stooges talkin' about it wasn't no racism in Chitown. And they told King to go back down south.

“Chicago does have a whole lot of Black businesses,” Scott mentioned.

Bruce changed the subject, bored with the race talks already. “Ay,' cuz, you wanna go to the mall with me tomorrow?” he asked.

“Yeah, aw'ight. As long as Peter knows that I'm right. Integration ain't gonna help us,” Troy declared. “The United States of America is racist. And you better never forget that.”

 

Next morning Troy and Bruce waited on Madison Avenue to catch a bus to the suburban mall. Bruce had forgotten how to get there and Troy had never been, so they asked bystanders what bus to catch. Troy was so hateful of Whites that he preferred to ask Blacks only.

“Excuse me, do you know how to get to Northside Mall?” he asked a young mother.

“No, I never been out there,” she told him. She smiled, giving him her full attention and desiring a more social conversation.

“Don't you live here?” Troy asked snappishly.

“Yeah, but I don't know how to get out there,” the young mother repeated. She switched her blanket-covered child from her left arm to her right to give herself a better view

Bruce began to chuckle as he viewed the disgusted look on Troy's face.

Troy rudely walked away and asked another young mother, “Excuse me, do you know how to get to Northside Mall?”

“Unt-unh.”

He then went and asked an older man. “Excuse me, do you know how to get to Northside Mall?”

The short, gray-haired man rubbed his thick beard and shook his head. “No, not really. I drove out there a couple times, but I don't know what bus to catch out there.”

An old, homely White man stopped and listened.

“Hey, son, the 54C will take you right there,” he said.

Bruce snickered. “He don't know what he's talking about. He looks homeless and shit,” he whispered.

Troy asked a younger brother standing near Mellon Bank. “Yo, cuz, what bus do I catch to get out to Northside Mall?”

“I'on know, man.”

Two friendly White women overheard.

“You're heading to Northside Mall?” the first asked.

“Yeah,” Troy answered, not really wanting to.

“The 54C will take him right there,” the second added.

“Yeah, that's it. The 54C,” the first agreed with a nod.

Troy withheld a “Thank you.” He walked back toward Bruce, who had wandered out near the curb to spit. “You see how nice White people are in this city, Bruce? In Philly, they probably would have let us get lost. White people love it when you don't know nothin',” Troy said aloud. Both White women turned from him in embarrassment.

Bruce laughed. “You crazy as hell, cuz.”

Bystanders began to turn and witness Troy mouthing off.

Bruce said, “You gonna get us in a rumble if you keep this up. But I'm down to bust up some White people.”

Troy chuckled, sensing nearby Whites becoming frigid.

“I bet that they ain't into Malcolm X in this city,” he assumed aloud. “I bet they love Martin Luther King, though, and don't even know the man. They just know his media image.”

Troy noticed an older Black woman frowning in discomfort. Yet he could care less. He had lost respect for everyone, White and Black, for not feeling as he felt or believing as he believed.

A plump and cheerful White student walked past and eyed him. “Hi, Troy. Do you remember me? I'm in your physics class,” she said with a huge smile.

Troy turned his back to her. “See that, man. I don't really talk to her. She actin' like we're the best of friends or some shit. She must think a Black boy is supposed to leap at a chance to screw her big ass.” Bruce burst out laughing as the bus finally pulled up.

 

A Muslim had shown a Louis Farrakhan speech about the movie
The Color Purple
, based on an Alice Walker novel and directed by Steven Spielberg. Black students in attendance sat astounded by the information presented concerning the racial psychology of America. A day later, Troy sat with Peter, Scott, and Roy for another race discussion inside the cafeteria.

“Hey, Troy, did you hear that Farrakhan speech last night?” Roy asked. He was teary-eyed and upset for some reason.

“Yeah. Did you see it, Peter?” Troy quizzed.

“Naw, I had some studying to do,” Peter answered.

“I didn't like what he said about White people. All White people aren't like that,” Roy alluded.

“Was that the only thing you got out of the speech?” Troy asked sternly.

“Well, that's one of the things that I didn't agree with.”

“Did he say anything that you did agree with?”

“Well, a lot of the things he said were true, but a lot of Black people are just not making an effort.”

“How the hell do you know, man? You grew up in the suburbs with White people!” Troy shouted at him.

“I had to go through trials, too. It's not like I wasn't hit by White society,” Roy rebutted. “I had to fight a lot of kids for calling me a nigger. I mean, what is it that gets in their way? If you work hard, you succeed.”

Troy nodded. “I thought that same way before I got on the basketball team. But now I realize that I was used.”

“You did make the basketball team, though,” Peter interjected with a smile. “And you did quit.”

Troy bit his bottom lip to remain calm. “Everybody talks about making the team,” he commented, getting aggravated. “I sat the bench, man. Do you know what that means? That means that I might as well have been in the stands watchin' my damn self.
So fuck this
team
shit until we can play, man!

“ “I see where you're coming from, Troy. But everyone must learn to work as hard as we do. And we can't ever quit,” Roy insisted.

“It just ain't that easy, though. I'm struggling now, and I study all the time,” Peter intervened again.

“Man, I know what you're thinkin'. You're thinkin' that Black people don't have what it takes to make it,” Troy accused the freshman Roy. “You're thinkin' they're too lazy or something.” He ignored Peter's comment. As far as Troy was concerned, Peter was blowing hot air, talking about studying all the time.

“I'm not saying that at all,” Roy snapped. “What I'm saying is, we can do it if we put more effort and time into it. All they have to do is work hard, and they succeed. That's very simple. I can't see why they can't do it.”

“Hey, Roy, both of your parents went to college and settled down in a White neighborhood, right?” Troy asked with a sense of urgency.

“Yeah, so?”

“So they had educations, right?”

“Yeah, and … ?”

“So you were born with an advantage already. And you'll never be able to understand the people who start from scratch,” Troy told him.

Tears began to swell up in Roy's eyes again. His sensitivity reminded Troy of Matthew. But he didn't want Roy to become spoiled like Matthew. So he pressed on. “What are you getting all upset about?” he asked him.

“I just can't understand what it is that you're talking about. I've had it hard too, but I kept my head high and did what I had to do.”

Troy began to settle down. He reached over and shook Roy's hand. “You got a good heart, man. You're heading in the right direction. But do you have any concrete plans?” he probed.

“Well, I'm planning to set up my own business and help as many people as I can. I'm not just going to work for some White man all my life,” Roy answered. “I figure that I can work about ten years, and then I'll start my own business and hire Black people.”

“How many do you figure you can hire, maybe ten, twenty people?”

“Well, you can't hire everybody.”

Scott nodded his head and spoke up to end his silence. “I thought about that too. All that will do is cause jealousy from the people you can't help.”

“Yeah, and then they try to rip everything up and make it bad for everybody. Like at the parties and stuff,” Peter added.

“So what is the answer to our problem, then, Troy?” Roy pressed.

“I don't know yet. But my boy was talkin' about havin' an underground economy,” Troy answered. “I'm starting to think that some type of socialism would be beneficial myself.”

“The way I see it, you can't help people who don't want to help themselves,” Peter said.

“That's exactly the way that I see it,” Roy agreed.

“Are you tellin' me that Black people don't want to get help and would rather live in a ghetto, sellin' drugs?” Troy questioned.

“No, but what else is the reason?” Roy asked. “If they need help, all they have to do is go get it.”

“What if they come to you for help? Would you help them out?” Troy asked, challenging Roy again.

“What, you think that I wouldn't?”

“I'm not worried about if you would or wouldn't, I'm worried about if you could,” Troy reasoned.

Peter and Scott laughed, confused. Roy chuckled himself. Troy, however, maintained a serious face.

“Now what do you mean by that?” Peter asked him.

“Look, Pete, you have to live through somethin' before you can understand it,” Troy answered. “Now, both of you have already had a head start on me, and all of the people I hang out with back home would be considered straight-up hoods to y'all. But I came from there and I know how it is. Or at least I
did
know.”

“Well, what's so hard to understand about it?” Roy queried.

“Look, Roy, if you grew up with X, Y, and Z, then you don't know how to explain how to get it. But if you grew up with just X and Y, you can most likely explain how to get Z, if you succeed yourself,” Troy philosophized. “Do you see what I'm saying? I'm talkin' about building.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. But I didn't have X, Y, and Z either. So tell me what you mean,” Roy pleaded.

“You do have it! That's why you can't understand me now! Your parents gave it to you!” Troy shouted.

“Hey, you all, we're closing up!” a staff member yelled. They were the last four students left inside the cafeteria. As they packed up and walked out, Roy tried to get the last word in.

“I'm trying to understand what it is you're talking about, Troy,” he said.

Troy smiled. “Ay', man, keep searchin'. I'm just trying to make you into a soldier. You gonna be important soon. And we need all the people we can get.”

 

Two days later, with finals approaching, Troy remained unfocused. He was tired of studying so he decided to venture to Bruce's room to chat.

“Ay, what's up, mayn? You ain't studying?” Bruce asked, opening his door to let Troy in. “I thought you'd be studying every day now.”

Troy grimaced. “Cuz, what I don't know now, I ain't gonna know. This is one of my don't-give-a-fuck-about-homework nights.”

Bruce cracked a laugh. “Yeah, mayn, 'cause you been too worried about that race shit. It's ripping you apart,” he said. “You sittin' around in your room every day worried about what White people got and what we ain't got. I mean, it's their world, cuz. What do you want us to do?”

“It's not their world, Bruce, and I want us to
think
,” Troy answered. He sat on Bruce's bed and thought a second. “All I wanted to do at first was go to college and get a nice job. But now I understand that I'm on a mission.”

“Yeah, well you bein' all mad at the world won't change anything,” Bruce told him. He got up and shot his small basketball into the toy hoop attached to his mirror. “The way I see it is this: the White people killed for this country and they ain't tryin' to give it up, especially not to us. No matter what you do, it's gonna be White people in your way. So you might end up being an old, grouchy man for the rest of your life,” he predicted, lying out across his bed.

“Yeah, man, I've heard that a million times, and I'll never accept it,” Troy told him. He got up and shot a hoop himself. “I just gotta get out of this environment. When I get on Harriet Tubman's campus, I'll have the atmosphere that I need to think and grow. Beause like y'all keep tellin' me, it ain't no sense in hating White people. That ain't gonna change nothin'. Plus, I've had some excellent White teachers. I need to think about that. But see, ignorant White people are set up as a distraction to us. And all Black people are set up as a distraction to them, to stop us all from realizing that we're being deceived by a few rich White men who rule the world.”